I was the child with the book light reading hidden under my covers when I was supposed to be sleeping. One of my favorite books was Matilda. The movie came out when I was 10, perfect timing for having already read the book a couple times. I’ve never been able to forget this scene:

I can’t forget this scene because it makes me want to hurl. It always has, even at 10. I truly don’t enjoy chocolate cake, and most people who find this out about me do not understand. “How is it possible to not like chocolate cake?” They say in disbelief. I’ve even been told I’m untrustworthy for not liking chocolate. She was joking, but not really.

This morning I put chocolate sauce in my coffee. We ran out of caramel, and I still wanted something sweet. Me and chocolate; we’re gray area. GRAY AREA! We are not black-and-white or all-or-nothing. I’m not here for that anymore—that thinking is my eating disorder. If you hate chocolate cake, you hate all chocolate, in any form. Chocolate is banned and no one will question you because it has always been this way.

The evolution of my coffee significantly parallels my recovery. In the worst of it, I’m drinking black coffee only. In baby steps it’s evolved back to coffee I want. It’s not measured out plain almond milk and stevia. I haven’t even bought zero-calorie sugar in probably 6 months. Which is such a huge piece of progress because it also brings me to a food value I try to keep for my family (chemicals out, when possible and not obsessively). Today that meant some unmeasured almond milk creamer and chocolate sauce. Wednesday it meant letting my husband surprise me with my favorite: soy caramel machiatto. In the biggest size. And I loved every drop of it. And that is a baby step to my life. Thank God, because black coffee is kind of miserable and so was I.

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